


Nothing to be Done

by makesometime



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And together they're going to do some murderin', F/M, Ozai is a rich bastard, Ursa is a governess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-02 01:03:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15785790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime
Summary: Ursa is a governess, newly employed to work for Ozai in looking after his two children. Ozai spots an opportunity to solve the biggest problem in his life, with her help.  Hijinks ensue.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this as a fill for Urzai week on tumblr, only to realise that it was going to be a much bigger beast than I initially planned for. So here I am, committing to a multi-chapter story without having written it all. Help.

Ursa takes her first steps up to the front of the townhouse all full of purposeful confidence. This is a role she's longed for, a prestigious appointment in a wealthy neighbourhood. It feels like the culmination of her life's work to date, makes all the late nights and difficult families worth the time she gave to them.

But when she reaches out to push the bell, she hesitates.

What if this doesn't work out? What if her new boss is as much of a tyrant as she has heard him to be? What if the children have earned the trepidatious looks that have graced her acquaintance's faces when she's told them who she'll be working for...?

No. She is stronger than her fears. She can overcome anything thrown in her path.

She rings the bell and waits for someone to greet her.

Beyond the door is the thundering of footsteps and then one lone set wanders closer. She watches as the door cracks open a touch to reveal the nervous, hopeful expression of a young boy.

_Zuko. Just turned ten. A fan of video games and reading._

His bright golden eyes shine with withheld emotion as he opens the door fully, revealing a smaller figure behind him, leaned nonchalantly up against a pillar.

_Azula. Almost eight. A daddy's girl through and through._

Initially, they seem somewhat innocuous. Both nervous, in their own ways. Hopeful and keen to welcome her. All of the horror stories melt away as she stares into their earnest eyes, and smiles.

And then their father appears.

#

Ozai, she learns, is the reason for everyone's misgivings. He speaks to her only when absolutely necessary, prefers to communicate in writing where possible.

She awakens to a barrage of messages on her phone each morning, the man long gone to work before even the children are awake. It worries her. More importantly, it makes her sad for the children. What kind of relationship can they have with their father if he's never around?

At least when they're in school his absence is less apparent. But here, in the summer vacation... she sighs, rising from the bed to start her morning routine. It is not her place to judge.

Ursa gets along well with the rest of the staff. Learns from them, in the times when the children are occupied, quite what sort of life the family leads. They have been without their mother for years, now. She doesn't ask how it came to pass. The sadness in their eyes is answer enough.

Zuko took the loss hardest. Azula was almost too young to understand, but has clung to her father in the absence of another parental figure in a way that Zuko does not favour.

She finds it easier to bond with Zuko in the first few weeks. She knows a little about games and popular culture, at least enough to have some points of conversation. Azula is more difficult. The young girl is loud and boisterous with her brother, cheery and charming with her father and near enough silent with Ursa.

Nevertheless, Ursa persists. And every gained smile is a victory of its own.

#

Ursa has been working as a governess for long enough that she understands the distinction between staff and relative all too well. In the early days, it was easy to slip, to believe herself more part of the family than she truly was. The years have given her a perspective that she is all too grateful to have earned.

So when she discovers Ozai pacing the lower floor of the house just after midnight, she almost turns right back around. Nothing good will come of lingering....

Yet there's an oppressive air around him so strong that her breath catches in her chest. His eyes are rimmed with dark circles, his hair lank. He looks pale, too pale, in the low light.

"You can stop loitering."

Ursa forces a slow and steady exhale, if only to appear calmer than she truly is.

"I'm sorry." She murmurs, moving closer despite all sense within her screaming the opposite. "Is everything okay?"

Ozai chuckles, the sound dark and hollow. At first she doesn't think he will fashion her with an answer.

"My father is, shall we say... demanding." He taps his fingers on the sideboard, looking at himself in the mirror above it. "In the strictest confidence, I would suggest he is also rather senile."

Ursa blinks, nodding reflexively. This feels like a conversation they should not be having. Perhaps that's what makes her the perfect partner to listen. "I see."

"Yet, if I have any desire to take over the business, I must bow and scrape until he finally loses the rest of his faculties."

He has a brother... that much she is aware of. Surely if there was any inheritance it would... No. Those are questions she should not ask.

"Is there nothing that can be done?"

With a sharp inhale, Ozai's attention snaps to her. An innocuous comment in her head, she realises how exactly it might sound mere moments too late. She opens her mouth to stammer a response, anything to correct her oversight, when Ozai nods, turning from her.

"Goodnight, Ursa."

#

The next day brings the same stream of instructions as ever before, which she takes as an indicator that her faux pas has not seen her freshly unemployed. She allows herself one minute of figuratively (and near enough _literally_ ) kicking herself before she forces it to the back of her mind, to be forgotten about as much as possible.

Ozai joins them at dinner that evening, the first time in several weeks. Somehow, the intervening hours have been kind. He looks well, rested. He smiles when Azula tells him about their day, asks questions of how they spent the time.

It shouldn't set her on edge.

She wonders what could have happened in the course of a single work day to change Ozai's demeanor so thoroughly, given that he was started out that morning with thoughts of treason on his mind.

After dinner and settling the children in bed, she checks her phone before she switches off for the night.

_Please come to my office._

Ursa frowns. The politeness is new. The tone of the request, less so. By now she knows better than to keep him waiting for long.

The office itself is as classically outfitted as the man himself. Wood panel walls, a large fireplace, red furnishings and several large portraits of his forefathers. There's one blank space, and she doesn't need to think too hard about what he expects to fill it with.

There are at least pictures of the children on his desk. It serves to humanise him, while the rest of the room makes him seem like a hideous caricature.

"I require your assistance."

Ursa's eyes settle on the man behind the desk. She's barely shut the door before he addresses her and she wants to smile, but it seems unwise in the moment. He's not summoned her for anything good, of that she can be certain.

"What do you need?"

Ozai sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "My father is hosting a gala and I find myself at a loose end. I would ask that you accompany me."

Ursa frowns, walking closer and taking a seat in one of the high back leather chairs. "Surely I've been working here long enough that your family know who I am?"

The smile that parts his lips is cool, somewhat uncomfortable to look at for too long. "Ah, but it makes a nice story, does it not? The widowed man falling in love with his children's nanny."

Something twists in her gut at his scorn. She holds no illusions when it comes to their relationship. They have barely interacted over the months to warrant any consideration. But it's so... dismissive. It lines her up as the conquest she has no interest being.

"What will be expected of me?"

Ozai gives a soft hum, drumming his fingers on the desk once more. It must be a nervous tic. An unconscious action while thinking. "Very little. You'll stay by my side. We'll feign affection for a few hours."

"I understand that much." Ursa says, crossing her legs and leaning back in the seat. "But what exactly is the aim?"

She knows she won't get an answer, as soon as the question leaves her lips. But there is a flicker in his golden eyes that sets her right on edge.

"There is something to be said for reconnaissance before executing a plan, is there not?"

There is no coincidence in his terminology. But then, there was little in hers the previous evening. At this stage, she knows enough to accept that it'll benefit her if she can claim ignorance of any plotting further down the road.

She feels a little dizzy.

"Can I count on your attendance?"

Ursa laughs, despite herself. "Yes, Ozai. I believe you can."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ursa finds safety and familiarity in the form of her friend Kya, and Ozai doesn't appear at all because apparently this is slow burn.

“ _Hello?_ ”

Ursa smiles to herself at the sound of the little voice on the other end of the line, trembling slightly as it aims for confidence that hasn’t yet come with age.

“Hello, Katara. Is your mother there?”

“I’ll just get her for you!”

She opens her mouth to reply with her thanks but winces instead as the young girl drops the receiver none too carefully on the counter and bellows _**MOM!!**_ at the top of her lungs.

While she waits, she picks up the faint sound of scuffling, of irritated sighs and childlike rambunctiousness, as Sokka apparently tries to get to the phone. 

_“Who is it?”_

_“Wouldn’t you like to know?”_

_“Uh, yeah, that’s why I asked!”_

Ursa bites her lip to stifle laugh at the bickering siblings as she catches the sound of Kya shooing her children away from the telephone. When the other woman sighs a weary greeting, Ursa feels the tight pressure in her chest start to dissipate. She might not have the faintest idea what to do, but Kya always knows. Kya always has an answer.

“Hey!”

It takes her friend’s brain a moment to catch up, to place the voice, but her smile is almost audible when everything clicks. “Ursa! How are you doing? Last I heard you were taking a new position in the city?”

With a soft hum, Ursa leans back against the headboard of her bed. “That’s actually why I’m calling. Can we meet somewhere? Grab coffee?”

The other woman’s instant discomfort at her simple request is both reassuring and disquieting at once. “Do you need to talk to Hakoda?”

“No, no!” Ursa chuckles, winding a strand of hair around her finger. “It’s nothing like that. I just need a friendly ear. I’ve been too much in my own head recently.”

“Then of course, I’d be happy to! Just send me a message and we can set up a good time.” The sound of arguing children grows in volume again in the background, signalling the inevitable end of their brief discussion. 

“And Ursa? Maybe call Hakoda anyway. You know how he worries.”

#

The good time ends up being an entire week later, which means an entire week closer to the event she’s trying not to think about. It takes them a good hour and two cups of tea to get Kya caught up, her jaw dropping further with every whispered confession.

“You know what you’re suggesting?”

Ursa smiles tightly, tapping her long nails on the ceramic mug to tap out a discordently unsettling rhythm. “I am very aware.”

Sitting back in her seat, Kya runs a hand through her hair. “And to me it sounds as if you’ve agreed.”

“Unfortunately, that’s the thing with speaking in half-truths and allusions.” Ursa says. “I’m not entirely sure what Ozai is suggesting. I’ve promised my assistance with the gala, nothing more.”

Kya’s lips twist into an uneasy smile. “It strikes me that that is simply the beginning of something entirely different.”

It’s all too simple to fall into an easy silence, to allow the ambient sounds of the coffee house filter across their senses as the truth of their discussion percolates. Ursa starts at a clatter of cups and plates in a busboy’s tray, smiling as she ducks her chin in an attempt to hide her embarrassment. 

She was never jumpy before this, never expected a pair of eyes to be watching her from each corner of the room. She’s barely spoken to Ozai since the meeting in his office, and perhaps that’s part of the problem. There needs to be a frank discussion, and soon. 

Kya is smiling far more genuinely when she looks back up. “It seems as if you’ve had a revelation without me having to say a word.”

“I don’t think I could have reached that point without talking it through.” She admits. “You’ve helped more than I can say...”

She allows her voice to trail off almost unconsciously. There’s too much swirling in her mind right not to finish a coherent thought.

“But..? Why does it feel like there’s more?”

Ursa flushes. More than once she’s had second thoughts about bringing Kya into this side of things as well. But if she doesn’t, then she might as well have spoken to Hakoda. Some things just require a woman’s touch.

“There _is_ something else you can help me with…”

#

There's something to be said for sharing this experience with someone. A dear friend, who clearly also can't quite believe what they're doing is actually happening. 

The first boutique feels so outside of her comfort zone that Ursa almost turns around immediately, but Kya is behind her, shoulders pulled back and radiating false confidence and suddenly it's not quite so imposing. 

Ursa forces herself not to look at the price tags of the dresses she tries on. If nothing else, it allows her to pretend she's simply in a department store with her own money burning a hole in her pocket, and not the platinum card of her employer. 

“I always wondered what it was like inside these places.” Kya murmurs to her, just out of earshot of the assistant. The pair of them are stood in front of a large mirror, Ursa decked out in a stunning blue gown that she wouldn’t even attempt to deny would look far better on her friend.

“And what are your findings?” Ursa asks, turning to look at the back of the dress over her shoulder.

“I never thought they’d be quite this… _soulless_.” 

Ursa snickers, smoothing her palms down over her stomach. “It does feel like they’re siphoning our life force the longer we stand here.”

Kya turns on her heel, wandering off to look at some of the other dresses on display. When she returns, her face tells Ursa enough about their chances of success here. 

So they move on, ignoring the reactions of the woman behind the counter as they walk out arm-in-arm.

The street is littered with high-end fashion stores the likes of which Ursa has never even spared a thought for. It’s not part of her world, nor for those who are so dear to her. As she walks with Kya, they stop at every window, searching for a hint of _something_ to make this whole thing feel less of a fruitless endeavour.

She stops at a sharp tug on her arm. Behind her, someone tuts and skirts around them but Kya is already dragging her across the street. All of her faint queries go unanswered as Kya shushes her, laser focussed on her apparent goal. 

“Here, look.”

Ursa finds herself caught between a sigh and a gasp at dress in front of her. High up on a pedestal, a deep burgundy gown hangs perfectly from a dummy that, somehow, appears to be roughly her build. With a full a-line skirt and a deep v-neck, it’ll look classy without making her look matronly. Somehow, she suspects that’s precisely what Ozai is looking for. 

She’d certainly make a statement.

“You’d look incredible.”

Ursa laughs, leaning into Kya. “You’re too kind.”

Kya huffs, pulling her towards the door. “And you are too humble. Come on, let's get you a dress already.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ursa goes back to school to make sure she doesn't ruin things before they begin, and Ozai is a bad teacher.

“Did you have a successful day?”

Ursa fights a smile, letting her fork rest against the side of her plate. It’s one of the strange nights where the children are absent, meaning it’s just the two of them at either end of the ostentatious dining table. It almost feels like a more extreme version of their meeting in his office, the barrier between them even more obvious.

The first time it happened, Ursa had assumed that Ozai would eat in his private space, if lacking the opportunity to bond with his son and daughter. To her surprise, he was in his normal seat when she came down to dinner - that first night and every night since.

She’s come to find that sharing a meal with Ozai alone is not quite as awkward an experience as she would have expected.

“You have access to your credit card charges, shouldn’t you already know?”

His smile isn’t entirely what she expected. He looks impressed, tickled almost by her response. More and more she realises how little she knows about this man. Given how tangled she has wound herself in his fate, it should alarm her more than it does.

“I can determine success based upon the number I saw.” He says, a sip of wine staining his lower lip briefly. “But are _you_ satisfied?”

The memory of herself in the dress flashes into her mind, Kya standing at her side with wide, appreciative eyes fixed on her reflection. 

“Yes, I am.”

Ozai tips his head to the side, back to the inscrutable mask he favours. “Good.”

Ursa hesitates. She was expecting more out of the exchange, but Ozai seems content to return to his meal.

“May I ask…”

His head snaps up, a pinch between his eyebrows at her continued conversation. It’s uncommonly satisfying to catch him out, to the point that she feels a little thrill of power chase down her spine.

“I feel like there are things that I should know, prior to the gala. I wouldn’t want to embarrass myself.” She smiles. “Forewarned is forearmed, don’t they say?”

Ozai chuckles, genuinely for the first time that she can recall. That spark in his eye is back, the one that makes her think she’s actually managed to impress him.

“I believe they do, yes.”

#

His office doesn’t get any less ridiculous, the more time she spends within its walls. She finds herself zoning out during particular boring discussions of the ins and outs of society standings, staring deep into the eyes of Ozai’s grandfather until her name is called, in increasingly terse tones.

“Remind me. Was this not your idea?”

She can’t hold back a long sigh, blowing out air hard enough to make her hair shift out of her face. “You must see how boring this is. Surely.”

His smile is tight, as he taps the clicker against his palm. “Unfortunately I don’t have the luxury of finding it boring.”

Part of her wants to tear out her hair. The oppressive heat from the fireplace is doing nothing for helping her to stay awake, and all she wants is a stiff drink and her bed. But the other, wiser part of her recognises that if she doesn’t start paying attention soon, they’re both going to be in a situation that they won’t easily get out of. 

“Okay. Okay.” Ursa gets to her feet and moves closer to the screen. She takes the clicker from him before he can protest, ignoring the barest hint of the heat of his skin against her own. Flicking back a few slides, she goes until she recognises at least some of the faces he’s put together.

“Iroh, your brother. His son, Lu Ten.” She says, looking carefully at the pair on the screen. There’s an undeniable warmth in the eyes of both men. Instinctively, she likes them. “Likely not a threat, having fallen out of favour with your father.”

Ozai nods, inscrutable. “Next.”

“Zhao. Your father’s most successful salesman.” She hums. There’s a chill in expression that sets her at ease. 

“One of my oldest friends.” Ozai supplies.

“Then I think you need to choose your friends better.” 

His exhale is amused, undeniably so. She watches out of the corner of her eye as he smiles but doesn’t pause in her assessment. “Likely the biggest obstacle we face internally at this point.”

When he doesn’t comment, she carries on, moving through the photographs until she can’t immediately name the two people in front of her.

“June.” Ozai says. “If my brother has his way, she won’t get much of a chance to mingle. And Piandao. Generally, I suspect very little interaction will be necessary but he is worth being on good terms with.”

Ursa nods, taking in their faces, reading the notes he’s put under their pictures. She fights a frown. Neither of them look particularly threatening. She had assumed they were moving in increasing level of trouble this evening, but perhaps not…

Ozai takes the clicker from her loose grip to move them to the final slide, and the thought fades from her mind as quickly as it had appeared. There’s something so innately menacing about the man who appears on screen that even a picture makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

“Long Feng.” He says. “He works for one of my father’s biggest rivals, but it’s an open secret that he’s the one in control. The CEO is well known to be weak.”

“Your father invites business rivals to his galas?”

There are times when she feels thoroughly out of her depth, and times when she feels a little silly. This is one of them. Ozai regards her as if she’s said the most foolish thing - just when she felt like she was making progress.

“Of course.”

The old adage, naturally. Keep your friends close…

She turns back to the screen and fixes her eyes on the man in the photo. She has a lot to learn.

#

Ursa does her best to hide her growing anxiety from the children, and for Azula at least, she thinks she succeeds. But Zuko seems more in tune with the feelings she’s attempting to repress. She catches him sometimes, his eyes lingering on her over the dinner table for a moment too long.

“How was school Zuko?”

The young boy starts, before setting his shoulders back and attempting something like a smile. “Good. Though we had to do a lot of studying today.”

Ursa gives him a warm smile, thoughts of her own recent experiences flitting through her mind. It’s been a long time since she slaved over the books, but more than once this week she’s found herself hunched over the desk in her room, trying desperately to commit things to memory. It seemed a lot easier when she was younger…

“I’ve been learning a lot recently too.” She says, pitching her voice as if she’s confiding in him. It works, drawing a look of tentative kinship to the boy’s open face. “It can be difficult sometimes, especially if you don’t like the subject.”

Zuko glances at the end of the table, before giving her a small nod of agreement. Ozai’s chair is conspicuously empty, apparently allowing for a little more honesty from the boy. 

His absence also certainly accounts for Azula’s sullen mood, the young girl pushing peas around her plate with a mournful expression.

“Azula, how was your day?”

“Ffine.” She says, her voice cool and remarkably mature for her age. It’s often struck Ursa that she seems like a tiny adult, forced to undergo the rigours of childhood against her will. “We learned about local history. It was boring. It’s much more interesting when Father tells us about the city.”

Ursa suppresses a snort, looking back down at her meal. Perhaps the man has a talent with his children that he hasn’t demonstrated with her. Though it’s more likely that there’s a difference in being _willing_ to learn, that she hasn’t quite reached yet.

The meal passes much as it ever does, sibling bickering and snarking growing more frequent as time goes on, and culminating in their sighs and pouts as Ursa suggests they retire to their rooms and look over their schoolwork for the next day. 

This early in the school year she finds herself less strict about whether they actually do as she asks, so when she finds Zuko grumbling to himself as the sounds of some videogame or other come from behind his ajar bedroom door, she keeps walking to check on Azula instead.

“Are you going to the gala with my Father?”

Ursa pauses in the doorway, unaware that she had even given away her presence. She crosses to where the young girl sits on her bed, a book open in her lap, and settles beside her.

“I am, yes.”

Azula’s expression doesn’t change. Nor does she look up. “Do you get to wear a dress?”

Ursa smiles, tugging a hand through her hair. “I do. It’s very pretty, would you like to see it?”

She watches as the young girl sets aside her book. Of all the things she expected to be able to forge a connection with Azula over, a designer gown wasn’t what she would have bet upon. It seems a little frivolous for the personality of the girl beside her, but Azula’s eyes sparkle with interest she gets to her feet.

“Yes please.”

Well, she’ll take what she can get.

#

The children are long settled, her homework abandoned in a pile on her desk and Ursa finds herself sprawled on her bed, staring at the dress that hangs from the front of her wardrobe. It really is something. Seeing the way Azula reacted to it was confirmation enough, if she hadn’t been absolutely certain before. 

She really should sleep… but the realisation that it’s only a week until she’ll be dressed up and hanging off of Ozai’s arm, falsely simpering her way through high society has her too wired to rest.

The knock at the door is sharp, bringing her out of her head so quickly that she shoots upright. She crosses to it quickly, opening the door to find Ozai standing with a thick leather folder in his hands.

He hesitates, for just the slightest moment. Just long enough for her to recognise that her haste in reaching the door would have been better served by putting on her robe first.

It’s the most human she’s seen him, in the moment his gaze flicks back up to her face, to remain, eyes steadfastly locked on her own. 

“As we are so close to the gala, I though some further details might be helpful.” 

She lets out an _oof_ as he places the file in her waiting hands, the heft of it unexpected, despite her knowledge of how seriously he’s expecting her to take this.

Glancing back at the man in front of her, she heaves an internal sigh at the ease with which her tired mind shifts to the superficial. He looks impossibly handsome in the low light from her bedroom, his skin less sallow and his eyes bright points in the shadows painting his face...

Ozai inhales sharply through his nose, his chin lifting. It takes him from appealing to cool in an instant.

“Is everything okay?”

Her fingers tighten on the folder, holding it to her chest protectively when he smirks.

“I wonder if the act will not be so difficult after all.”

Her heart stutters, a momentary skip. Tingles chase over her skin as he walks away from her, disappearing into the darkness of the corridor as he returns to his rooms. 

_Curse him._ She thinks, shutting the door with a quiet click. _And curse her too, for being stupid enough to make him correct._


End file.
